Possession
by Gryvon
Summary: Iason/Riki. As much as he might try to deny it, Riki knows who he belongs to.


Riki panted, breath still shallow from recent exertion and he forced himself to focus just on breathing. There was no telling how long he'd have to catch his breath.

On the bed next to him, Iason shifted, rolling to one side and sitting on the edge. He fidgeted with something on the table, out of Riki's sight. Closing his eyes, Riki ignored the sounds and hoped vainly that it wasn't another of Iason's infernal toys.

Breathe in, breathe out. Slow and steady. Breathing was the only thing he could control, sometimes, and he'd learned to take advantage of that control when he could.

His muscles complained, aching in an all too familiar way. He didn't like to think about when his body had become so accustomed to such treatment. It felt like years ago since he'd been free.

Cold fingers settled on the small of his back and Riki jumped, chains rattling with his sudden movement. Iason chuckled, the sound of his laughter falling like chill rain over the silent apartment. The fingers traced a line up Riki's spine and he told himself he was shivering from the cold rather than anticipation. He wasn't supposed to want this.

"Haven't you had enough?" Riki complained as a token protest.

"It's never enough."

He couldn't fool Iason. The blonde moved, his hair dragging across the white sheets like a living curtain. He could feel Iason settle behind him. There was a palatable presence that came with Iason and Riki knew he'd developed some sort of unerring sense where Iason was concerned. It was something like the way a dog always recognizes his master. It made him sick, though that didn't stop his hips from rising as soon as he felt the bed dip from Iason kneeling behind him, or keep him from shivering again as the blonde's hands settled possessively on his hips.

His mind may protest, but his body knew who it belonged to.

He moaned when Iason pushed inside. His fists clenched in the sheets. He wished that he didn't want this, but it was hard to lie to himself over the cacophony of his own pleasure. Iason liked him loud, and he was. He was trained not to hold back, not to choke a single sound, and Iason knew how to play him.

Iason's hand rubbed up his side and he shivered. The hand moved around to trail down his spine, pushing with light pressure and he moaned. Iason shifted, pushing Riki's hips up higher until he was halfway to his knees. Both hands gripped his hips again, pulling his hips back hard in a move that forced Iason deep inside of him. He whimpered every time Iason did that. He couldn't stop himself, and it made him feel dirty, used.

But through the embarrassment and noise there was pleasure, a sick kind of pleasure that he half-loved, half-despised, but he took it when he could get it. His cock rose, responsive even to the thought of Iason's touch. At least his master was kind, in a way. While Iason sought out his pleasure deep inside of Iason, he also saw to his pet. Long fingers circled his cock, pressing once at the base of his erection, just above the gold ring that marked him a pet, caressing it in a strange fashion before finally stroking Riki.

He couldn't stop himself from making a sound now, even if he wanted to. His moans only increased in volume as Iason touched him. Twisting his hands around the chains, Riki pulled himself up onto his knees. His feet pulled up as far as the chains attached to the cuff on his ankles would let him. Here, lost in Iason's touch, he let himself participate. He pushed back into Iason's hips, matching Iason's thrusts with equal force, equal passion. At times like this, he liked to think they were almost partners, both putting the same amount of force into their love-making, both wanting it equally enough.

Riki was the first to come. He was almost always the first to come. He tensed, the chains pulled tight as he curled in on himself, and as he tightened Iason followed him, a soft sigh the only sign of his release.

Iason left his hands on Riki's hips for a brief moment before pulling away, his fingers trailing almost regretfully along his thighs. His head hit the pillow as he relaxed into his bonds.

Slowly, he forced himself to breathe. 


End file.
